


A Crumpled Bouquet of Pink Flowers

by Vendelin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A bit of stalking, Derek is a Failwolf, M/M, Socially awkward!Derek, mainly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendelin/pseuds/Vendelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek passive-aggressively courts Stiles</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crumpled Bouquet of Pink Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aprettysmalldose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprettysmalldose/gifts).



> This was a gift for [Lis](http://rizuno.tumblr.com) and originally posted on [my tumblr](http://ljummen.tumblr.com). Then I got asked to post it on AO3 as well, so here it is!  
> Thanks to [Josh](http://broodingsoul.tumblr.com) for the super-quick beta work!
> 
> It's not something I would normall post on AO3 (except for in my tumblr fic-collection), but I decided to make an exception.

It starts on a Thursday. Stiles is just about to pay for his new hoodie, when someone pushes him aside.

“Excuse me?” he manages finally. _Squeaks_ , is perhaps a better description.

The guy who’s now standing in front of the lady behind the counter glances briefly over his shoulder at him. It’s a nice shoulder. And a nice face. It’s a _not-so_ nice attitude, however.

"What?" The guy asks, like he hasn’t seen Stiles standing there until now.

"Dude, I was going to pay for my shirt. What are you doing?"

"You were taking too long," the guy says simply. Stiles is about to let out a stream of inappropriate words, just to make sure that the guys knows how inappropriate he is, when something soft gets pushed in his face. It takes a second, before he realises that it’s _his hoodie._

The guy is out the doors in a second, and Stiles just sort of stares after him, before he’s able to regain himself enough to walk up to the cashier lady once more.

"That one’s already paid for, honey," she says and her smile is very confused. "By your friend," she clarifies, as though Stiles’ confusion is that obvious.

_His friend?!_

"He’s not my friend," he protests.

She only shrugs at that. “He paid for it anyway. Would you rather pay for it again?”

For a moment, he contemplates saying yes, because no one is allowed to push him aside and pay for his stuff. But the hoodie is $40 and he could get a lot of blueberry smoothies for that, okay?

"No, it’s okay." He leaves before she has the chance to change her mind.

* * *

 

He’s taking Scott out for smoothies the next day. Hey, he’s got a new hoodie and forty bucks to spare.

"So, tell me what happened again?" Scott prompts as they’re standing in line. Stiles is a bit occupied by figuring out if he wants a pure blueberry smoothie, or maybe beg the guy behind the counter for a _feeeew_ pieces of banana, too.

"Sorry, what?"

"What. Happened," Scott sighs.

"Oh, _that_.” He’s probably gonna ask for a bit of banana. It feels like that kind of day. “It was basically a near death experience, to be honest. One second I was standing in line to pay for this beauty–” he pats his shirt lovingly “–and the next I was shoved to the side and suddenly it’s already paid for, and I have no idea why.”

"Are you serious right now?" Scott looks at him like he’s an alien.

"Which part? I mean, the answer is yes, no matter what, but." Stiles shrugs.

"Someone rudely paid for your shirt?"

“ _Yep_ ,” Stiles says, popping the P.

"Why does stuff like that never happen to me?" Scott whines.

"Because you’re a strong, independent werewolf, Scott. You don’t need no rude strangers to pay for your clothes."

"That’s a double negative."

"It’s a part of the character," Stiles sighs.

Their conversation gets cut off by the guy behind the counter clearing his throat loudly. Oh no, they’ve been those annoying people who always hold up the line. Stiles hates those people.

"Can I have a blueberry smoothie with some banana, please?" he asks.

"Same for me, please," Scott adds quickly. He doesn’t like blueberry much, but Stiles suspects that he’s so stressing out over the irritated stares and sighs from the people behind them, that he’s unable to decide.

"That’s $5.59. Please."

"But we ordered two?" Stiles tries, and pretends like he doesn’t hear the annoyed muttering behind him.

"Yes, I know. But yours is already paid for."

"…what."

The guy behind the counter sighs heavily and Stiles thinks for a moment that his eyes might fall out of his head, because that’s an eye roll worth an Olympic gold medal. “There was this dude insisting on paying for your drink. Threatened me, really, what was I supposed to do? Be grateful, you don’t have to pay for both of these overpriced, mostly-water drinks.”

Stiles suspects that his brain might have died, and Scott ends up tugging the bills from his fingers to pay for one smoothie, _one_ , before he leads them out of the crowd.

"Dude," Scott breathes. "Is it the same guy?"

"How would I know?!" Stiles mutters around his straw, sucking furiously, until he gets brain freeze. "There can’t be many other dudes around town threatening people into getting to pay for my stuff."

"But _why?”_

"I don’t know!" Stiles rubs his forehead, trying to kill his brain freeze. "Maybe he thinks I’m homeless or something."

Scott snorts at that. “Yeah, sure.”

Looking down at himself, Stiles figures that it’s probably a long shot. It’s not like he dresses fancy, or anything, but most people he sees living on the street in this town, don’t have the luxury of owning clothes without holes. Maybe it would’ve been a different story in like…LA, where the rent is a gazillion times higher than it is around here.

"Nope, drawing a blank," he sighs at last, giving up. This guy – if it’s even the same one, but what are the odds of _two dudes_ scarily buying him stuff?! – isn’t making any sense.

* * *

 

Things are uneventful for another couple of weeks, and Stiles starts to relax. It could all have been a weird coincidence. But he’s seen enough movies in his life to not let himself be lured into this false sense of security. Or, well, he _should_ , but it’s too weird to even think that it’ll happen again.

Until it does, that is.

He’s in the BHU library, trying to figure out this new theory that really isn’t making any sense.

"I need caffeine," he groans to himself, tapping his pencil against his textbook. "So much caffeine."

He forgot to bring his wallet, though. Which is probably a good thing, when it all comes down to it, since he tends to _forget_ the sandwiches in his bag that he’s brought with him from home and spend all his money on chocolate bars instead. Now, though, he’s out of sandwiches and he needs coffee if he’s ever going to survive midterms.

He’s been reading the same two paragraphs over and over again for the past thirty minutes, when someone clears their throat awkwardly. When he looks up, the girl from the coffee bar on the corner is standing there, looking severely uncomfortable.

"Hi," she says and that’s the moment Stiles notices the bag in her hand that she’s now thrusting in his face. "This is for you."

"Uh, I didn’t order anything? _Can_ you even order to get it delivered? Isn’t it like a deal that the customers have to go to the cafe to get their coffee, because if it isn’t, I feel seriously betrayed. I’ve been walking to your place all the time, risking some weirdo stealing my laptop, because I need coffee even though I’m not ready to give up my table.”

She flushes red. “Usually. I mean, yes, you do. I just got paid a lot of money to deliver this to you. _Don’t judge._ I’m literally drowning in student loans.”

"I seriously think that you’ve misunderstood the use of ‘literally’, because I’m pretty sure it’s impossible to actually drown in loans–" She shoves the bag in his arms and stalks off before he’s able to complete the sentence.

It takes another second before Stiles realises what just happened. “Hey!” he calls out after her. “Who paid for this?”

She turns around for a second and then points awkwardly at a retreating figure in a leather jacket, just leaving the library. Stiles is torn between running after him, and digging into this mystery bag he’s now got in his hands. Midterms and his need for caffeine win this time.

And maybe it’s the best five chocolate muffins he’s ever had in his life, okay?

* * *

 

It isn’t until after midterms that Stiles finds out who the weird guy is. He’s just about to buy popcorn for the movie he’s going to watch alone, since there’s no better way to celebrate. Yeah, so maybe Scott’s on a date and no one has invited him for a party, but so what? Going to the movies alone is underrated.

Anyway, just as he’s going to pay for his large popcorn with extra butter, the lady behind the counter shakes her head and smiles. “Your boyfriend has already paid for these, sweetheart.”

Stiles snaps around, because a) he does _not_ have a boyfriend, and: b) he needs to corner that creepy son of a bitch ASAP. He finds the guy standing several feet away, openly staring at him. Stiles stalks over, shaking his popcorn in the guy’s face while he’s searching for words. Eventually, all he can come up with is:

"What is _this_?”

"It’s a large popcorn with extra butter," the dude says evenly. "Well, _was,_ until you covered the floor in most of it.”

Stiles looks down at his feet, and yes, there’s a pile of popcorn there. Crap.

"But _why_?” he hisses. “It’s the shirt, the smoothie, the fucking muffins from _heaven,_ and now _this_. What do you want? I don’t even know who you are!”

The guy looks away, clearly awkward. It’s like his cool facade just cracked. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

"Well, what the hell did you mean to make me then, dude? Because this is some weird shit. People don’t _do_ this.”

The guy clears his throat and looks down at his feet briefly; a gesture that doesn’t fit his appearance. “I’m sorry,” he says then, voice low. “I was trying to ask you out on a date, but I don’t know how.”

And then he forces his way past Stiles, who feels a little as though someone has dropped a piano on his head, because he’s only able to stare at the guy’s back as he leaves.

* * *

 

It takes four days for Stiles to figure out who the guy is. His name is Derek Hale, and he’s a grad student. He’s a werewolf, like Scott, and only has three friends: Isaac, Erica and Boyd.

As it turns out, Scott knows Isaac pretty well, and manages to bribe Derek’s phone number from him, in exchange for a bottle of whiskey laced with something Stiles doesn’t want to know about. This way, he can still deny everything and anything to his dad, if he should come to that.

His hands shake slightly, as he types out the text to Derek.

**> this is the object of your creepy stalking. If you want to ask me out on a date, you should do it properly. I would give you my address, but I’m sure you already have it. **

He doesn’t get a reply, and there’s no sign of Derek for two weeks. _Two weeks_. Perhaps Stiles should be relieved, but honestly, he wouldn’t mind dating _that._ And according to Isaac, Derek’s actually a pretty nice guy. Just severely socially awkward. _Well, no surprise there._

It’s eleven PM on a Sunday when there’s a knock on the front door and Scott goes to open. Stiles is about 99% sure it’s Allison anyway. Booty call. He’s so jealous.

"It’s for you," Scott says awkwardly when he returns.

Oh, well, it could be Danny, too. Sometimes he wants to play video games at bad times. Stiles stops dead in his track when he reaches the front door, however. On the other side Derek is standing, with a crumpled bouquet of pink flowers in his hand. He looks a little pale.

"Uh," Stiles manages. He watches as Derek’s fingers flex around the bouquet, and a few petals fall to the ground.

"Hi, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me." It’s rushed and stiff, sounding like it’s rehearsed. An awkward moment later, Derek thrusts the flowers at his chest, like he only just now remembers that he was supposed to hand them over.

Stiles tries to say something, but his mind is so painfully blank. The little colour that was still left on Derek’s face fades quickly, as the quiet seconds tick by.

"It’s eleven PM on a Sunday," Stiles says, but instantly regrets his words, when Derek’s face falls completely.

"I was going to ask you Friday but I couldn’t…" He trails off, shrugging. "Sorry."

 _Oh my god,_ Derek hasn’t been able to work up enough courage to ask until now. Stiles grabs at the bouquet, when Derek starts to retract his hand . They’re completely mangled, and Stiles suspects that maybe he’s been so nervous that he’s accidentally crushed them on his way here.

"No, wait," he says hurriedly, finally managing to grab the flowers from Derek’s hand. "I’m just surprised."

Derek looks like he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to leave or stay. His gaze falls on the flowers and he visibly winces. “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined them. Pink. They were the only ones left at the store –” he breaks off with a frustrated sound.

Stiles’ heart might break just a little bit. In that good way.

"No, I love them! I’ve never gotten flowers before." He looks over his shoulder, hesitating for a moment. He’s got early morning classes tomorrow. But then he glances over at Derek again, and he’s got this stupid, hopeful look on his face.

"You know what?" he says finally. "I’m sure there’s a diner open 24/7 somewhere. Wanna go?"

Derek nods fiercely. “Yes, yeah, I do.”

"I’m just gonna change." Motioning to his ratty sweats, Stiles hurries back into the apartment, leaving Derek at the door.

"Scott!" he hisses, not entirely sure why, since Derek surely can hear them fine anyway, as he skids across the floor in the living room on his way to his bedroom. "I’m going on a date. Put these in water for me."

Scott catches the bouquet with a look of disbelief. “These? They’re basically–”

"Put them in water for me!" Stiles yells, and bangs the door to his room closed as he’s trying to pull up the jeans that make his ass looks amazing, without seriously injuring himself.

Scott looks like he’s worried about Stiles’ mental health when he hurries towards the front door again. At least he’s filling a tall glass with water for the flowers.

"I don’t know when I’ll be back!" Stiles calls as he closes the front door behind him, leaving him on a foot distance from Derek’s chest. "Hi."

"Hi," Derek replies, smiling.

Stiles is _so_ fucked.


End file.
